5) CARPE NOCTURNUM
The wind kicked up, licking cold winter insights against her still face. The night was a warm purple hue; the sky seemed to glow with electricity. She was alive. There she stood, just beyond the wood-- large trees standing steadfastly still, branches waving like the boisterous waves beneath. She took a step, and another, staring down into the dark abyss of black waters. She wore a thin cotton t-shirt that stretched against her body, extra fabric lashing back and forth in the wind. Her jeans rested low on her hips; her feet were bare and stained with caking, chilled earth.
Certainly, this was a sight to behold: there stood Beauty on an isolated cliff, Beauty seeped into the night so much so that it seemed impossible to find where she ended and the night began. So stumbled in a young man-- tall, sort of brutish and clumsy. His presence evoked a warmth only surpassed by the love and sincerity to be found in his simple heart.
She spun around, her dark chestnut tresses dancing wildly about her face, framing the round bone-structure like a halo, lit to a dark, mysterious glow by the moonlight.
Two gasps of air caught within their chests, spinning in a chemical conversion stalemate, waiting to be exhaled.
Within seconds, it was gone. The oaf tripped on a tree root, reaching out to balance himself. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, ratting it as he painfully pulled her down with him. They leered two feet from the brink, nearly killing themselves.
They kept frozen for a few seconds: he stared guiltily and resentfully into her hazel eyes. He ruined the moment.
But, alas, she smiled and a musical eruption of laughter escaped her mouth. He nervously joined in.
"Pansy," she said, sticking out her hand. "Pansy Parkinson."
"Hi, I'm Ernie…" he replied, shaking her hand.